Coffee by Anoud Zouman

You exist yet you cease to. I’d write you definitions all day but it wouldn’t do you justice. Words, I ask you this, tell me, what is it that you do to your fellow hypocrite? A hypocrite that writes about worlds and universes that he knows nothing of; you’re a drug and you just did your job and he’s an addict; he must write. A cup of coffee to a caffeine junkie is what you are, but in his case you fall in the form of his deepest daydreams.

Fill him up with the false feeling of universes created within the tips of his fingers. Dare you make him write about what he never felt and with his audacity he has grief fall upon his might.

Look at him building; he starts out with a body in which he pours souls into; watch him dance with his tales.

Ask of him to build you a soulless body with the anatomy of sadness and he’d do it. Now ask him what a heavy weighted heart might feel like and he’ll fall silent as a yellow leaf from a tree on an autumn’s night.

Now you’ve broken a writer. He’d think to himself that he understood when he didn’t and you just showed him that he knows nothing of the worlds he created.

Words,

You molded me into the laws of physics and you made me believe I was the one that explains the unexplainable.

Then you flew and went back in time.

Defy me and turn against me, it’s what you always do. Write me a ballad of a hypocritical writer and words while I sip on this cup of coffee of mine. I’ll watch words run out of people’s lips as they jump into my cup and then I’d be surprised with my sudden ideas. Make me think I’m good.

I’ll write about what I’ve never felt and while I do that you’d make me realize that challenges in this world of mine are nothing but mere adventures in that world of yours.

Dare you succeed once more into creating envy deep inside of me where I wish to live where my characters do?

Your power is something that I realize only after being crushed by you.